


cenotaph

by trash_rendar



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Rise of Skywalker
Genre: Ben Solo Lives, Gen, Post-Canon, Redeemed Ben Solo, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Spoilers, au leia's saber is purple, special appearance from Ghost!Anakin, tros ending fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_rendar/pseuds/trash_rendar
Summary: Ben pays his respects.
Kudos: 13





	cenotaph

The people of New Alderaan, many of them descendants of those who had survived the Disaster or lived aboard the transient Flotilla, were wholly committed to the continuance of the culture and lifestyle of their lost motherworld; their world had become a beacon of peace, culture, and knowledge, even within the ordered tranquility of the New Republic. But the First Order had come for them regardless. This time, though, the invaders had been repelled; mangled Star Destroyers hang in space or had fallen to earth, still burning where they had been hulled by turbolasers and torpedoes. Even now, smaller ships pick through the billowing cloud of detritus - scooping up salvageable wreckage, sorting the prisoners of war, tallying bodies.

Dirty work, yes, and profoundly so. But better this than another Disaster.

One spot remains mercifully unblemished by the surrounding carnage: a small island connected to the eastern coast of New Aldera by a marble bridge, large enough only to support a large gazebo constructed from the same. This is the memorial site for the House of Organa, a tribute to the last royal family to reign justly over the Alderaan-that-was; Queen Breha, and Senator Bail, whose statues had been moved here from a classified location on Yavin IV – and their adopted daughter, Leia, whose memory was so strong as to provoke thousands of the galaxy’s free peoples to lay flowers and wreaths at the foot of her sculpture. It stands at the outer hemisphere of the rotunda, ever-watchful for the eastern sun to climb over the faraway seas, waiting for the return of the light.

Ben had never considered that he would be standing here one day. There had only ever been two possible endings for him, as he saw it; the throne, or the grave.

Uncle Luke had been right after all. ‘Always in motion is the future’.

He looks up at his mother’s cenotaph from under the hood of his plain beige robe, studying the face that he’d seen in history holos, squaring it with the artistic liberties that had been taken with its sculpting - the flowing regal dress, the necklace of chalcedony waves, the double-bun hairdress that Mom had always thought was ridiculous but had become inseparable from her memory despite everything. A lump forms in his throat as he examines the features of its face.

There should have been a better way to say goodbye. This… seemed too little. But it was all he could offer, now.

He tugs the lightsaber from his belt – hers, not his – and thumbs the ignition stud. It springs to life with a snap and a humming purr, vibrant and powerful, casting the surrounding pillars and the base of the sculpture in brilliant purple. He holds it out straight and true, a wayward son offering a final tribute. Then he extinguishes the blade and lays its hilt at the foot of the pedestal, nestled among offered bouquets and burning incense and other trinkets of memorial. The Honor Guard would arrive to clear away most of the offerings in the early morning – they would _have_ to, so overflowing was the outpour of grief and gratitude. His mother’s lightsaber would make its way into the proper hands from there; for now, it would be safe here.

Across the stars and worlds away, he can feel if not see a similar ritual taking place on a desert homestead; the lightsabers of his uncle and grandfather, both restored to near-pristine condition by skilled, reverent hands, laid to rest in place of bodies among the windswept sands of their home world – their pallbearers the scavenger girl, his twin in the Force, and the friends she’d come to call her family.

Across the stars, worlds away, she feels him, too.

_What will you do now? Rey asks him_.

_Travel,_ he replies, crossing the bridge to the mainland. _There’s much work to be done. Much to set right._

I’ll be travelling, too. Restoring the Order. Maybe we’ll see each other again.

_Maybe,_ he says. But privately he doubts it.

_You can come back to us now,_ she adds – insisting but not pleading.

I will – someday. But I have to do this on my own.

No one else could repay the debt he carried; it was his burden and his alone.

She acquiesces, understanding. Just remember you aren’t alone anymore.

He stops at the edge of the bridge, and turns.

A figure cast in shimmering blue stands at the edge of the gazebo, barely visible against the creeping rays playing over the clouds and the waves. If he squints, he can barely make out the tousled mess of brown hair that’s not so dissimilar to his mane of raven black, and a scar across the left brow that he once shared, and eyes that burned with intensity and passion – but also pride.

The figure raises an arm, hailing him.

In answer, Ben raises his own.

_No_ , he replies, suddenly full of warmth and light. _No, I’m not. Not anymore_.

Dawn breaks on New Alderaan.


End file.
